


The Ballad of Alexander Hamilton

by nasaurie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Abandonment, Abandonment Issues, Abuse, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Cheating, Child Abandonment, Crying, Depression, Drugs, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Multi, Other, Physical Abuse, Poor Alexander Hamilton, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Social Anxiety, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 21:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15058145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaurie/pseuds/nasaurie
Summary: Alexander was a broken mess.That wasn’t a new fact to anyone who knew him, which was a very small number. He was the homeless kid who spent way too much at the public library and refused to beg for money, meaning he would go for days at a time without eating. His scars hung on his memories,his words were his only escape, and his body seemed to be his only good element.So when he gets a scholarship to King’s college, he had only one goal- to get a degree and make the most out of his pathetic life.But he doesn’t expect to make friends, he doesn’t expect to see people he and he certainly didn’t expect to fall in love.





	The Ballad of Alexander Hamilton

_ It's cold. _

  
Alex pulled his jacket tighter around him as the rain soaked his only decent clothes. Normally, on nights like this, he would usually find a 24 hour bar and stay inside till the rain stopped. Then go and find something to eat. He wouldn't beg like the other homeless people did. He spent most days in the public library and would read until closing times, or go to his _job._ Many of the locals thought he was quite strange. A homeless kid spending his time in the library? Oh, what horror. But it paid off eventually. While they were out begging for scraps, he was would be attending a prestigious boarding school called King's. You had to be either really rich, or really clever to be there. For Alex, it was the latter.   
  
He checked his phone, a cheap Nokia he'd ordered on eBay at the Library, and realized he was almost an hour late. An hour. What was he thinking? He should've asked for directions, but Alex had a lot of an unfortunate thing called pride. Sighing to himself, and shuddering as the thunder rumbled, he pulled his small suitcase behind him and fought against the winds of New York, the rain hitting him like bullets.   
  


__ You're going to be fine. Fine. Just fine.   
  


He had to be.

 

The storm bough back unpleasant memories that he'd tried to bury when he was leaving the Caribbean, but, although two years had passed since the hurricane that tore his original town apart, he would still find himself terrified of the slight sight of rain.   
  
Alex felt like leaping with joy when the bus stop came in sight. The headmaster of the school had been very clear. The bus stop near the Central Park. The instructions had been so simple. Alex felt like kicking himself. Being late made such a bad impression. They were probably going to revoke his scholarship. God, he'd have to go back to living on the streets. All that reading was for nothing. The locals would never shut-   
  
"Alexander Hamilton?" A deep voice rumbled from behind him. Alex whipped round, staring at the stranger. A tall, bald man stood in his spot, holding a briefcase and an umbrella. Alex blinked and bit his lip.

 

"That’s me." He squeaked, and mentally slapped himself. Why couldn’t he talk like a normal person?

 

"George Washington," he stepped forward, reaching out his hand. "You’re the new student to King's, right?"   
  


He swallowed a lump in his throat and straightened himself up, shaking the man’s hand and offering a small smile.   
  


"Yes, sorry for the delay, sir," he coughed into his hand. "I had a small struggle in getting here."   
  


Washington nodded. "It's alright, Alexander." He looked down at his wrist, checking the time. "I would offer to take you somewhere to eat, but it's getting late, and I have a meeting in an hour."   
  


Alex shook his head.   
  


"It’s fine, I ate already." That was a lie. He hadn’t eaten in days. Washington didn’t look like he believed him, judging from his poorly hid expression of disbelief on his face. He shoved his free hand in his pocket, his skin prickling and the man scanned his appearance.

  
Washington coughed after a moment. "There is a taxi waiting for us.This way," he said slowly, and turned towards the car park. Alex followed him and tried to control his breathing and act like a normal person so he didn't fuck everything up. 

 

  
It was a relief when they finally reached the car. His legs were aching despite the fact he rarely used these methods of transportation. The last time he’d been on something that moved was when he took the ship to New York, which had almost killed him, it had been a few years since incident occurred, but it didn’t stop him from walking most of the time.

 

When Washington opened the side door for him, he hesitated a second before entering slowly. It was clean and smelled like ... leather? It seemed nice enough.   
  
Alex felt a stab of panic when Washington shut the door and got into the passenger seat. Shit. Keep calm Alexander. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Don't mess this up. He closed his eyes slowly, trying to block the noise of the rain tapping on the glass.   
  
"Are you alright , Alexander?" Washington's voice was thick. Was he from the south? 

He glanced up and scanned Washington's face before smiling politely.   
  


"Just fine, sir." He replied, voice stiff from fake politeness . Washington nodded before going back to small talk with the driver.   
  
The rest of the drive was quiet with little talk, which suited Alex just fine. Washington would occasionally ask basic questions, but gave up eventually when Alex gave simple answers that made it clear he didn’t want to talk.   
  
  
"Alexander." Alex woke up with a start. When did he fall asleep? God, did he doze off in the library again? He yawned and stretched his hand, freezing when it connected to someone's face. A man was in front of him. He sat up abruptly.   
  


"I'm so sorry, sir!” he said in panic. The last few hours replayed back at him, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard.

"Are you alright?" Alex blinked, before giving a reassuring smile. 

 

"Yes, I’m fine." he murmured.. Washington looked at him sympathetically. He turned away. He didn’t need his pity.

 

He saw Washington pay the driver, then looked behind him. A large, red block building stood there, not much surrounding it except a grocery store and a small pub, which didn't make any sense. But, fuck, the building was huge. He felt a rush of excitement building up in him. Washington came and stood by his side, a small smile on his lips when he saw the glint in Alex's eyes.   
  


"Are you ready?" He asked the young man. 

He nodded in response, and followed Washington up the stairs in front of the building. He looked around in awe.

  
The reception was full of medals and trophies won by the college. Photos of sports teams and enrichments were hung on the wall. He could see a TV on the other side of the room that had announcements on.   
  
"Alexander," Washington said, bringing him back to reality. "Take a seat." He motioned to a line of chairs against a wall. "I'll be right back."   
  
As Washington began to walk away, he took a deep breath and sat down, pulling at his nails unconsciously, a habit of his he’d tried to stop, along with biting his nails, but with poor effect. The clock ticked in the corner of the room and Alex felt as if the time was dragging on for too long. 

 

It was quiet. The only noise was the low chattering in the halls, and the rustling of the receptionist’s, who had barely glanced at him as he had walked in, folders.

 

The quiet becoming a bit too deafening, he tried counting in his head to calm him down.

 

_ un, deux, trois- _

 

He remembered his mother whispering the numbers in his ears as a child, when his brother had pushed him. She had held him comfortingly and had stroked his hair, telling him not to worry, wiping the tears off his face.

 

_ quatre, cinq, six- _

 

She had murmured the numbers to herself as well has him when James had found out about her past failed marriage, when he’d slammed the door on them with no word of goodbye. His brother went out with his friends, a few teenagers who’d encouraged him to smoke with them around the corner, but he didn’t have friends. No one wanted to befriend the strange 10 year old who talked too much. She had rubbed his back soothingly when he realized that his father was in fact  not coming back.

 

_ Sept, huit, neuf- _

 

When they were laying in bed, their breathing uneven and their heads aching, she’d counted with him, and had sat with him and wiped the blood running down his mouth and put wet towels on his forehead. She made his favourite foods everyday, even though it was difficult to afford it. Warm soups and mashed potatoes and beef and ice cream. She’d neglected her own heath and taken as many jobs as she could so she could bring medicine for him. Then- then he got better, and she-

 

_ Dix _

 

She had died. And it was his fault.

 

Alex noticed he was shivering and his eyes were wet. He furiously wiped his eyes, refusing to cry. He pulled the rubber band on his arm back, wincing as it snapped back hard, a red mark leaving his place. At least this made him feel something, and his view was no longer blurred. The receptionist seemed to not have noticed him, which was a relief.

 

He was only just starting to feel better when he heard someone walk in.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Instagram: @shahdroe  
> Tumblr: @shahdroe  
> Snapchat: @shahdroe 
> 
> I’d appreciate a follow!


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